


The Littlest Things

by postapocalyptic_cryptic



Series: Febuwhump 2021 Nonsense [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Bad Batch, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Allergies, Autism, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Is Autistic, Hunter Whump (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Protective Siblings, Sensory Overload, Sensory Processing Disorder, Sickfic, Stimming, Tech is a Good Little Brother, Whump, kind of, meltdowns, sorry Hunter I'm beating the shit out of you again, the endless list of downsides to being hypersensitive, you can rip that from my cold dead hands actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postapocalyptic_cryptic/pseuds/postapocalyptic_cryptic
Summary: Everyone has allergies. When you've been genetically engineered to be hypersensitive to everything around you, they're just a little... worse.Hunter has an allergic reaction to something on Kashyyyk and it's the straw that breaks the camel's back. He has a meltdown. Tech helps.Febuwhump ALT. Prompt 8: Allergies
Relationships: Crosshair & Hunter & Tech & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Hunter & Tech (Star Wars: The Bad Batch)
Series: Febuwhump 2021 Nonsense [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143062
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	The Littlest Things

**Author's Note:**

> So I've mentioned the concept of autistic Hunter before, and this is my first real foray into it. I don't know if anyone who reads this will be neurodivergent, but if you are, you know exactly what it feels like to be sick and miserable and angry and not be able to deal with it in any way that isn't *incoherent screaming.*

When Hunter sneezes for the fifth time in thirty seconds, Tech knocks on the bathroom door. “Hunter? You alright in there?” 

There’s a moment of shuffling and banging, and then, “I’b fine, Tech, leave -  _ guh  _ \- leave be alode.” The sink turns on and then off again, and then the door opens. “Please jusd led be sleeb.” 

“You’re not sleeping; you’re in the ‘fresher,” Tech points out, stepping to the side and letting Hunter cross the hall to the sleeping quarters. He looks worse than he did fifteen minutes ago. His eyes and nose are red and his hair is escaping from its ponytail, flying around his face and making him look even more disheveled. 

He sneezes again and groans in frustration, knocking his head against the wall. “I’b  _ tryig  _ to sleeb, but id won’t let be.” He scrapes a hand over his eyes, smearing tears across his flushed face. 

Something down on the surface of Kashyyyk had reacted unpleasantly with Hunter’s immune system, to say the least. From the moment they’d set foot in the jungle, he’d been sniffling and itching and swelling up. Stims had held off the worst of it until they’d finished their mission, but now he’d had more than the recommended dosage for a twenty-four hour period and Crosshair wouldn’t let him have any more. He’d taken antihistamines and they’d sterilized their gear, but neither seemed to be helping much. Tech had been hoping he’d be able to sleep through the worst of it. 

He opens his mouth to say as much, but is interrupted when Hunter sneezes so violently it nearly knocks him over. Tech winces in sympathy. “Try to get some rest?” he suggests. 

Hunter just glares at him and disappears into the sleeping quarters. 

Tech sighs, running a hand through his hair and turning to head back to the common area. Crosshair and Wrecker are there still and both of them look up when he opens the door. 

“He still sick?” Crosshair asks, spitting the remnants of a toothpick into the trashcan. 

“I wouldn’t call it  _ sick,  _ exactly, but yes.” Tech sits down between the two of them, grabbing his book from the table and leaning against Wrecker. “I think he’ll just have to wait it out and we’ll just have to wait  _ him  _ out. He’s not feeling very talkative.”

Wrecker huffs. “Poor Hunter.” 

“Indeed,” Tech agrees. 

“Maybe next time, he’ll be able to sleep if he doesn’t take so many fucking stims,” Crosshair adds. “I told him-”

Whatever Crosshair had been about to say is cut off by a nasty-sounding crash from the sleeping quarters, followed by muffled yelling and the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting durasteel. 

Wrecker grimaces. Crosshair stands, rolling his eyes, but Tech holds a hand up. 

“Wait,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. You two will just end up fighting.” The last time Crosshair had tried to intervene when Hunter was having a meltdown, there was blood involved. 

Crosshair sits again, grumbling under his breath. Tech heads back towards the sound of Hunter’s misery. 

Tech opens the door to find Hunter staring at the shattered remains of a water bottle and tugging at his hair. Each heavy breath whistles through his nose and fresh tears stream down his face. 

“Leabe, Tech,” he growls. 

Tech shuts the door and stands his ground. “Do you want to try and take another dose of antihistamines?” 

Hunter makes a strangled sound and spins around, yanking his hair again and kicking the wall before collapsing to the ground, knees to his chest and arms over his head. He’s crying, or trying to, at least, sobs catching on congestion and interrupted by coughing. He’s making that sound still, one long note of anguish through gritted teeth. 

Tech sits down in front of him, leaving a meter or so between them. He rests his chin on his knees and breathes slowly as Hunter cries. 

“Feels bad,” Hunter says. “Feels…  _ gah.”  _

“I know,” Tech says. “I’m sorry.” 

Hunter doesn’t answer, just takes up banging his open hand against his head. 

Slowly, the sobs turn into sniffles. The hair-pulling becomes a steady back-combing motion, starting at the base of Hunter’s neck and moving forward until all of his hair is standing on end. The half-scream dies off, replaced with steady breaths that match Tech’s. It’s not until he’s relaxed, feet sliding forward and shoulders dropping, that Hunter picks his head up. 

The look he gives Tech is utterly blank, and Tech sighs, getting to his feet. “Bedtime, Sarge.” 

Hunter nods, scrubbing the back of his hand over his red eyes, and takes Tech’s offered hand, letting himself be guided to his bunk. Tech lets him sit before saying, “I’m going to get you some meds and water and stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Another listless nod. Tech leaves to gather his taking-care-of-Hunter gear. 

In the common area, Tech is immediately assailed by both Wrecker and Crosshair. “Is he alright?” they ask in sync, looking up from the datapad they’d been pretending to work on. 

“Had a meltdown,” Tech says. “I think he feels at least marginally better now, though. I’m going to make sure he takes another dose of antihistamines and goes to sleep.” 

Crosshair nods. “Good. Tell him not to sleep flat on his back.” 

Wrecker scoffs. “Cross, you’re the only one who does that. It’s kriffing weird.” 

Crosshair punches Wrecker. “Yeah, well, you’re no sleeping beauty, either. You snore like a krayt dragon with duracrete for lungs.” 

Wrecker shoves him and the two go tumbling sideways. Tech jumps out of the way and runs to the kitchen to avoid the coming tussle. Someone swears. Something falls off a table. 

Tech smiles to himself as he collects a water bottle, some tissues, and the appropriate meds, grabbing a ration bar for good measure. He skirts around the edge of the fight and back into the sleeping quarters, hoping the noise wouldn’t disturb Hunter. 

He needn’t have been worried. Hunter hadn’t so much as twitched from the position Tech had left him in, still perched on the edge of the bed and staring at the far wall, wheezing. The only motion is the hand idly twisting a strand of hair around his finger over and over again. 

He knocks lightly on the side of the bunk. It takes Hunter a moment to respond, but he does, turning a bit towards Tech to indicate his attention. 

“Got you some stuff,” Tech announces, handing Hunter the meds and water. Hunter takes them and downs them without much thought, then drinks half the water. “I’m going to leave you some food and tissues and the rest of the water, alright?” 

Hunter hums his assent, then sneezes again. He slams his eyes shut and, for a moment, Tech is afraid he’s not done with the meltdown. Hunter takes a shaky breath and the moment passes. Slowly, mechanically, he lays down, tugging his weighted blanket over his shoulders and settling on his stomach. He watches as Tech sets his things on the floor beside the bunk, then reaches out. 

Tech takes his hand. Hunter squeezes once, gently, eyes already closed.  _ Thank you  _ goes unspoken.

Tech squeezes back.  _ Of course. You’re my big brother and you would do the same for me.  _

Tech turns the lights off on his way out. 

**Author's Note:**

> So it's painfully obvious that this is a first draft. I do not give a fuck. Thank you for your time.  
> Tumblr @postapocalyptic-cryptic-fic or @chiafett.  
> Have a lovely day and may the Force be with you!


End file.
